Being A Ring Means Always Getting The Finger
by Fyrie
Summary: Co-written with Siah - No one ever tells Bob's Story, so here it is, typed by people with fingers (which he lacks)
1. Chapter One : It's A Ring Thing

Hi.

I'm the One Ring.

You know the one I mean. Yeah, that's it – me. And can I start by say that it's a lot of pressure being "The ONE ring" with that whole deal of ruling them all. It makes me sound like a solitary control freak!

You never hear about "The ONE bracelet or the ONE necklace…", do you?

Oh yeah, at one time I was part of a set, but does that ever get mentioned? 

Do they ever go on about how evil a bracelet studded with Hobbit-teeth and cursed to make the wearer eternally sing the 'Macarena' is? Nooooooo! 

Do they ever comment on how dastardly the Necklace of Insane Delusional Paranoia (current owner – Jesse Helms) is? Not bloody likely! 

Its slander, I tell you! But getting back to what I was saying…

Things being as they are in the evil realm (you know, those random scary, dark places that no one wants to go to cos they smell of feet and Brie), it takes a lot of dough to build obviously evil, dark and pointy towers that can house fickle wizards, Orcs, Epiladys, Lawyers, Traffic Wardens and all other things known to be evil, bad, naughty and generally worthy of a good spanking.

And to this end, the Boss went well over budget on his new and improved "I'm-an-evil-guy" look, especially with the whole 'Mount Doom' deal. I mean, how many times do you have to tell a guy, its not how big the volcano is, its what you do with it that counts!

Thanks to this, the Trinkets of Evil (the Boss hated to be told he was wearing jewellery. He thought people wouldn't take his masculinity seriously…did I mention just how BIG this guy's sword was? Serious issues there, I'm telling you!) and all other evil accessories (Don't even get me started on the Tiara of Doom) were subsequently hocked in the 2nd age by the Boss for a megaphone, mascara and building permits. 

Who knew how handy that glitter-mascara would come in, when it came to stylishly trying to destroy the world as an eyeball? 

If he'd maybe gone and got a bloody gauntlet, the following series of event wouldn't have happened, but, of course, the Boss had his priorities and no matter how much you tell him pink and glittery eye-lashes didn't suit him, did he listen?

Anyway, I digress. 

Back to the 'evil' label everyone has pinned on me. Let's think about this logically. I'm a small ring of metal. There's a psycho wizard out there, doing naughty things with his stick and they blame a freaking circle of metal! 

Mind you, with the whole load of nasty coincidences surrounding me, I suppose I can't really blame them for being arseholes.

Mind you, some people say it's all in the poem, all about darkness and binding and stuff.

What poem?

Surely you know THE poem of the ONE ring…

You know that poem scrawled in my exterior that rhymes in the common tongue, but doesn't in foul and unspoken language of Mordor (very similar to Italian)? Yes! That poem! It was pretty much done for dramatic effect. 

I didn't really think that all the "good races of Middle Earth" were going to get their panties in a knot over that bit of fluff. Initially it was going to be "Best Friends Forever" but then that whole "Pure evil doesn't have friends" thing was an issue, so we went with the other bit. 

Yeah...anyway, that's me. And can I say, for the record, I would not have gone with glowing red writing. Tres Tacky.

So everyone goes on and on about my being evil, because the Boss wanted to keep with the 'evil-vibe' he had going on, even though he managed to write a very pretty and lyrical poem full of nice, rhyming couplets and everything on my insides.

He wears jewellery and mascara and writes poetry and he thought that having a volcano and a ruddy great sword would make people think he was a dominant manly figure. You know why he always wore the helmet? 

Make-up.

I've seen drag Queens wearing less.

Yeah, so this great, big, scary-looking, issue-ridden guy (both in and out of drag), with a pointy-helmet and armour made me in the fires of some place called Mount Doom, size 10 (although I do have the optional one-size-fits-all property. Very useful trick), and they started calling me the downfall of all free peoples – but so was Hillary Clinton and you don't see her with this kind of rap. 

If that doesn't scream "I'm freaking evil!", I doubt anything would. (Frankly, I feel miss-represented and I AM going to have a word with my agent about that.) But please, dear reader, you have to think about me this way.

I'm a ring. 

So what if I talk and hiss a little. You try saying "Sweet Sally sallied south in search of sand" with no lips. Not so Easssssy is it? And I could sue you for that! I have a speech impediment and I'm classed as evil! (Well, I'm sure Oprah would agree that it's unfair!)

As for that whole corrupting-people's-minds rumour that seems to be going around…it has a perfectly logical explanation! Honestly, I haven't corrupted anyone, really. Just made sure to save my own shiny hide!

Now, listen! I' m serious! If a git of an elf and son of a fallen king were holding you above a BOILING pit of lava and you had the ability to beg for your pitiful, circular life, what would you do? Would you let them throw you in or would you swear on everything that you would give them fame, glory and riches. You bet your gold ass you would. 

Doesn't take a genius to figure that one out. Thank you Mr. Wizard. 

See, when your jewellery starts talking to you, I figure that either you're completely insane anyway and have just gone off the deep end or you might just get what its saying. This particular twit, Isildur, seemed to believe me, thank god. 

Although, there is every chance he was quite barmy as well.

Frankly, though, I think Elrond (that whacking great twit of an elf. What did I ever do to him?) is a bit off his game anyway if you know what I mean. 

He holds up in his overgrown tree house for a few thousand years playing slap and tickle with the other immortals, and throwing back some of that "special" elven wine. Guy just needed to get out. 

I mean, if he wanted me gone so bad, all he had to do was stick out one little foot and Isil-Dur! (and I mean that literally) would have taken me right down to the fires of the Mount Doom, although it would have had the unfortunate downside of toasting him to a crisp as well.

Although, bearing in mind the brooding and mopey twat of a descendant, maybe it would have been better if the whole messy business had gone down that way. I mean, c'mon! A lad who ditches the crown cos his great old granddaddy spoke to jewellery!

And they say Sauron had issues…

So this is MY story, the following is an account of those useless nancy-boys that pranced their way around the lands of Middle Earth that would later become known as "The Fellowship of the Ring". 

Big fat hairy deal………

  



	2. Chapter Two : Into The Fire

OK, as much as I would like to dwell on the Gollum bit, I'm going to spare you the details. Frankly, he was a crappy roommate not to mention clock-stopping ugly. I got a reputation here – DOOM of Middle Earth to newt-boy's 'precious' wasn't exactly my idea of climbing the social ladder, ya know? 

You know that whole 'third person' thing was a direct result of too much time alone and too many hours reading "PlayOrc". Yeah, nice mental image, ain't it…now try BEING THE RING ON HIS HAND. 

Anyway, I'm not really into 'exploring my inner ring' with you people, so lets not dwell on this somewhat short and chafing chapter in my quest-for-world dominance thing. 

Besides, don't you want to hear about all the cute widdle cuddly Hobbits? How very un-original. Don't get me wrong, the dark lord likes them too. He just couldn't eat a whole one in one sitting. 

Lets just cut to the chase—Hobbits – boring boring boring. 

I've had tarnish with more personality than them. They never do anything mean, devious, cunning or even remotely cruel. No long hours of quality plotting, no torturing victims, no wild disco parties at Saruman's summer tower. Nadda. Zip. Ziltch. 

What can you expect from a race that is perpetually smoking pipweed and look for 'shrums? Not a lot my friends. Hate to burst your bubble but that adorable trait of gorging themselves every two hours is basically "the munchies". Peaceful, loving creatures my ass, they were stoned. 

Also, shit like that will stunt your growth. 

That's where my biggest pet peeve of this whole malarky comes in. They star in it, when I'm classed as the big bad. They're the noble, strong and courageous little buggers who are tough enough to take the ring on a ramble. Not my idea of a pleasure outing. But then, no one ever asks ME, do they?

Did anyone actually ASK me if I wanted to be the petting toy of the hairy-fingered gimps from the Shire? Did anyone ask me if I wanted them to be 'cursed' with me? 

I don't think so.

After all, I'm just a ring.

I might be the most evil ring that could destroy the whole frigging world, but still, my opinion is worth peanuts.

So onto Bilbo Baggins, or as I like to call him, Psycho. 

I didn't think it would ever happen to me. I was careful. This dirty old bird was way into me though and wouldn't let me alone. "Are you seeing other rings? It's because I'm not the Dark Lord isn't it? You are seeing HIM again, aren't you?" He wouldn't let me go anywhere or do anything. If I was fondled once, I was fondled 50 times a day. 

I think he was paranoid because he has short fingers. 

Regardless, a ring can only take so many times of having a finger thrust into them, so I sent for an intervention counselor: Gandalf…or as we call him in Mordor, Frank. 

I should make brief mention here that Frank has more alias' than a bank-robber. For years we thought maybe he had a multiple personality disorder. We sent him to see a shrink about it but he turned out to be the shrink too…huge surprise there…and that was when we realised that he was mostly just a butthead anyway. 

Not that it wasn't blindingly obvious.

To each his own I guess, but you don't see me calling myself 'the ONE golden hoop' or the 'trinket of power'. At least I'm an HONEST evil bent on destroying the world.

So, getting back to what I was saying, dear old Frank lays it all out for the hairy little plonker. Encourages him to take a little vacation and try to 'get away from it all'. What Hobbits have to get away from is beyond me. If they were any more relaxed they would slip into a coma. 

Eventually Frank gets the old sod to agree by using that whole "do you take me for a conjuror of cheap tricks and look how big and looming I can make myself" routine that went out in the 1st age. 

He managed to do it without cracking his head off the ceiling again, which was actually the most impressive part of the whole stunt. Honestly, I think that was the thing that struck old Furry-feet the most.

Strangely enough, Psycho fell for it. I mean, how can you take any guy seriously when he forgets to shave for at least twenty years on the trot and wears a hat that makes a marquee look tiny? 

And just between you and me, he had to be Gandalf THE GREY because of poor hygiene and the inability to make a washing machine work. Yeah, he can conjure magical light and everything, but ask him to turn a dial on a washing machine and he's useless.

This is also the reason that his invites to the annual Wizard picnics always get "lost". 

Anywas, the old pervert dropped me like a ton of bricks. Wham, bing – thank you ring. That was it? After all we shared? I felt used. 

Mostly what I needed was a little pick-me-up. Someone to 'polish the gold' without a serious commitment, if ya know what I'm saying. I wasn't asking for much, just a not-so-bright pretty boy preferably with long fingers and amazing typing skills. The kind of guy that wouldn't mind facing an enormous, terrifying eyeball to spend a little quality time with me. 

And as I told Frank, I don't think that's asking too much.

Of course, Frank, being Frank, has a sense of humour that is so funny that it just…isn't.

What happened?

I got shoved in a (insert expletive of choice here) envelope for the next Dark Lord knows how many years and was forgotten about. This can be a little boring. 

Even that nitwit of a nephew, Frodo (more like Bobo) hasn't the sense to be curious about ruling all Middle Earth. God, that kid is one Dull hobbit, and that my friends is saying quite a bit.

And they wonder why I've got it in for the people of Middle Earth! 

Anyways, eventually, Frank recalls this 'little joke' of his and decides to show face and for the first time since I was shoved in the freaking letter rack. He started babbling on about my being the ONE ring of great and terrible power. (So frigging awesome I can't even get my ass out of a wet envelope, but ok, whatever). 

Mind you, Frank always was a bit of a drama queen. Which pretty much sucks because he could have just ASKED to see the lettering. Instead he goes for his little idea of flare and next thing you know, I'm smelling burnt wax…

Talk about a friendly wake-up call.


	3. Chapter 3 : Shrunken Hippies & Undead C...

Chapter 3 

Right, so like I was sayin'… dear old Frankie gives Frodo this whole song and dance number – trust me it was disturbing to see that – about me, a helpless freaking ring, pillaging the entire earth, enslaving all the free people...yap yap yap...and the little goober buys it like a charm. 

Actually, it might have been the promise of a free trip to Mount Doom, which is home to some of the best Pipeweed Middle Earth can buy, but let's give our hero some moral credibility, as doubtful as it is anyway.

If I know Frank, he was just getting rid of the kid to throw another one of his benders in the ol' Hobbit hole. Basically Frank's parties usually involve a lot of cheap grain alcohol, even cheaper strippers, and Jello Twister. 

This is pretty much the only reason the elves have anything to do with him, pervy bunch that they are. 

Why else would he tell them to go off on their own and meet him somewhere else? 

But I digress...where was I? Ah, yes, the beginning of the 'fellowship'.

Yes. Back to Frank and his powers of persuasion. He even manages to rope the hired help into this escapade – a 'bush-trimmer' he claims he is...uh-huh – to accompany our dull hero by promising not to turn him into anything 'unnatural'. 

Yeah, right… 

The most 'unnatural' thing about this whole quest was the glaringly obvious S&M thing those two little wankers have going on. Its "Yes Master Frodo this and YES, Master Frodo that…." and "let me rub butter on your hairy toes Master Frodo"…

Its enough to make a ring sweat I tell ya. 

So ol' Frank does that 'close my eyes and point to a spot on the map' trick and the next thing you know we are on a friggin' boy scout hike to Bree, with me shoved in a pocket with all kinds of things that you're never told a hobbit carries. 

There's being prepared and then there's bloody wishing for a miracle! What did he think he was? Some kind of sex symbol? Okay, yeah, he also had the recommended ball of twine, like all good boy scouts, but I don't think he would use it for normal things.

There better be a badge involved, that's all I have to say.

Either way, old Frank decided to get them started before Frodo decides to have 'one for the road'. Smart, if you ask me, but hey, no one ever does. After all, I'm just a ring. Just ignore me. See if I care.

And then, wonder why in the hey I would go evil!

Mind you, no one ever mentions the fact that – after Frank went off in one direction – I convinced our...er...heroes to stop off at the first net cafe on the route. Okay, we stopped at twenty spider webs, before they got it right, but that's irrelevant.

So, anyway, I send the boss, Sauron, a quick email letting him know that I am taking some vacation days to get in touch with nature and my heinously villainous side, which is only fair after God only knows how long stuck in a bloody envelope, but that I promise to be evil straight off on Monday. 

Also, could he please send the Ring Wraiths to pick me up in Bree? 

Wraiths aren't a bad lot if you can deal with that screaming horses. Yeah, they're a little image obsessed if you ask me, what with the insisting on back-lighting and only wearing black to 'make them look thinner' bit. 

Actually, they're a bit like a pack of Undead Cheerleaders, they do everything together: paint their nails black, compare brands of EvilWear(tm), check each other's pompoms (think whatever you like about that)…and that can be a little annoying. 

Mordor can be so cliquey sometimes. 

Anyway as I found out, the Wraiths, being the dizzy twits they are – and you can guarantee they were all bottle blondes when they were alive – didn't read the WHOLE email and came to the Shire instead. 

None of this – especially massacres of innocents who got in the Wraiths way en route to the shoe sales – was in any way my fault.

I am just a ring, after all.


	4. Chapter 4 : The Fashion Police

Now, here we are, on a merry boyscout trek. 

  
Just when I thought things were bad enough, being stuck with these two dominatrix-obsessed perverts, we managed to - unfortunately - run in to two more of the little Stoners, these ones obsessed with various shapes of vegetables, especially regular mushrooms.

  
We won't even GO there. 

  
My original pair, I could have coped with because they were so obsessed with each other and Sam saying 'Master' at least six times an hour (Frodo got nasty if the little wanker didn't reach his quota), it took the heat off me, but now there were four and, to be honest, I didn't want to be around the hairy-toed little gits any longer than I really had to be. 

  
So, I did what any other supernatural chunk of metal would, with my superior knowledge about things-of-the-evil-and-sinister variety.

  
I tried to alert the fashion police!

  
Yeah, yeah, I know they're called the Ring Wraithes, but still.

  
Those guys can SENSE bad accessorising from a hundred miles away, so all I had to do was to suggest to Frodo that he might kind of sort of want to slip that everso attractive ring onto his everso attractive and fuzzy finger and he - being a little pothead - listened to the talking accessory (as well as rolling his eyes in an all-too-exaggerated way).

So, with our tweed-clad nit putting on a Ring of Evil only meant to be worn with Sauron's stylish leopard print of battle-garb, the Ring Wraithes would no doubt went into spasm and hunt us down at full speed!

I mean, I can't think of anything else being bad accessorizing...although, there was this time when Sauron foolishly tried to go out in a leather thong with me attached to his unmentionables...  
  
I never thought a Dark Lord would squeal so much when getting a makeover from the Ring Wraithes.  
  
But, getting back to what I was saying, this was my cunning plan, but - alas - that bloody Sam had to ruin it, by stopping our favourite Ring-bearer from donning me. 

I tell you, its annoying as hell! 

  
The one time I DO want a Hobbit to put me on, it doesn't happen!

  
So, the hobbits, thinking they're all clever and so forth, hide underneath a log, while the Ring Wraithes trot past obliviously - they always did tend to ignore the jewellery screaming "I'm down here, you twits! Move your head a little to the left and you'll have found me!"

  
Alas, they didn't look there, so off they went, all shadowy and backlit and everything.

  
Its all very intimidating, unless you know that - under the black robes - they're all wearing Gucci and Prada with fittingly matching make-up and shoes.

  
And now, we see the true stupidity of my travel-companions (Note to self - if I ever get into evil hands, make sure to kill Frank properly for leaving me with these poncey twits) - instead of staying hidden under the log like any normal person would after seeing a black-clad, spooky person ride past, they decide they can outrun those ginormous great big black horses.

  
Okay, maybe they didn't know that Ring Wraithes ARE actually fast, but you think the fact that they got from Mordor to the Shire in the time it took Frodo to walk to the outskirts of the Shire MIGHT suggest that Horse-power is quite an impressive thing to have!

  
So, on our so-called heroes go, starting to run through dark woods and...wait for it... BACKLIGHTING!  
  
There are my guys!

  
You can always tell when they're approaching cos everything suddenly goes blue and gleamy - gotta give the Wraithes credit for that - at least they're consistent in their lighting technique.

  
So, what do the hobbits do, when faced with a huge, steaming, screaming horse with a cloaked Wraith on the back?

  
They run.

  
And here's the even more unbelievable part - they get away!

  
The Wraithes would probably deny this, but you know, I think they stopped at the Mall for a mocha and a manicure, at the very least. How else could the little sods get away on foot and manage to make it to the ferry, while being pursued by the Wraithes on big old horses?  
  
Either way, they got away and the Wraithes were forced to chase 'em down the bank towards Bree.  
  
You know things are wrong in the world when you're going to a town named after a smelly cheese.  



End file.
